Crimson Dawn
by CaketinTheHobo
Summary: The Doctor's point of view in "The Crimson Horror" from his submersion to his rescue.


_**So, I got this idea after watching "The Crimson Horror". I don't know. I think I just needed to get it out of my system.  
I'm not normally known for my oneshots, so this is something new.  
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Reviews are appreciated :)**_

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Immersion. He woke up just in time to see his feet descending into the crimson liquid.

His mouth opened in horror; he cried out, trying to let someone – _anyone – _know he was there. That he needed help, that this was wrong.

Instead he found himself being fully covered in the poison, his body and mind already breaking apart.

He was the Doctor. And he was helpless.

_Clara. Where was Clara?_

And then Clara was pushed from his mind entirely. For then, the burning began.

He was the Doctor. And he was on fire.

It scorched through his nerves, annihilating his ability to scream, to move, to do _anything. _The red liquid was made to corrode away what made a human work. Preserve the body, but eradicate the mind. Turn them into perfect, living dolls.

But he was more than that. Much more than a human, too much for the crimson liquid. It didn't stop the searing heat from robbing him of his voice, of his _humanity._

But it wasn't complete. It couldn't cope with the Time Lord. So he was rejected. And when the red cleared from his vision and his mouth he was in a pile of humans. Rejected humans. Crimson skin, and cracks. A broken doll.

He was the Doctor. And he was a failure.

Voices. He heard voices through the swirling confusion of the machines, the hiss of the liquid, and his own mind.

A woman's voice, barely audible. Commanding. Authoritative. Awful.

"_Like little maids all in a row. The process improves with every attempt! Mr Sweet is such a clever old thing."_

Feet stopped next to him; what little he could use of his vision right now showed them to be the woman's; Gillyflower.

_"Oh, into the canal with the rejects, Ada!" _Exasperated. Blaming Ada.

_Ada? Who was Ada? Where was Clara? Does Ada know?_

Ada moved towards him, the tap of a cane audible over the sounds of machines and human sorrow. He felt the cane's reverberations though the floor.

_Help me._

His voice wasn't working, the poison had taken away his speech. But she _heard. _She heard his cry of despair and stopped. Reached out for his outstretched hand, gingerly, like she wasn't sure where it was.

His eyes could pick out colours amidst the blur. He saw milk-white and crimson-red. _Blind, _his mind supplied, as the hand found his. He felt a fishnet glove under his fingers, and with effort, squeezed the hand. Gripped tight. _Help me._

Moved, to a new place. Out of the pile of decaying humans. Vision improving, he saw features within the red and white blur of Ada. Sorrowful. Lonely. Chaining him to the wall.

_"Sometimes, the preservation process goes wrong. Only Mr Sweet knows why," _Ada, talking like he was the only one who listened. "_And only Mama is allowed to talk to Mr Sweet."_

Bitter. Not sweet.

_Who was Mr Sweet?_

His eyes tried to reach Ada's, but she was blind. If only he could move his mouth, if he could _speak, _but no, the crimson poison had removed this ability, left his mouth gaping and wide when he'd tried to call out beforehand.

Ada, continuing: _"But if you're very good, you can stay here. You'll be my secret."_

Her hand, on his face. Identifying his features. Part of him, somewhere, admired the blind woman's ability to utilise her other senses to _see _him.

_"My special monster."_

He was the Doctor. And he was her monster.

She turned. She was leaving.

_Don't go, _his mind screamed, mouth making little sense as he tried to communicate with her. _I need you. Help me. Help me find her._

The door to his cell was closing, he was too far away. Limbs too doll-like to move. The only thing he could do was make wordless noise as the door shut behind her.

Time passed in his room; his prison cell. He didn't know how long, but his vision improved a little. His voice did not, his movement did not. Sleep was difficult – stiff limbs were not suited for a comfortable position. He managed on the little food Ada was able to give him and the small amount of sleep he was afforded in his current state.

Then came the day his cell door crashed open.

He stood, before the Doctor. Edmund. Crimson, screaming. His last words were not words. His last sight was of the Doctor. Of Ada's monster, imprinted on his eyes forever more. The Doctor had tried to reach for him, tried to do _anything_, but he couldn't. He could only watch as Edmund fell, his body too weak for the pure venom.

He was the Doctor. And he was alone again.

Silence. Nobody there to talk to him. Ada only supplying him food through the hatch in the door. Kind of her. Not like her mother.

The silence was broken by an unfamiliar sound. His keeper's cane was not heard. Lighter footsteps. Not Gillyflower's. Not Ada's. Who? They were far away. Below him. But they were definitely there.

_Help._

He stood. Stiffly, slowly, limbs like they were attached to poorly-made puppet-strings. The light footsteps had long passed into somewhere else beyond his hearing.

Still, he crashed into the door, almost barely out of his reach. The sound was loud; the silence beforehand was now non-existent.

He hit again as the footsteps returned his way. Becoming louder, ascending a staircase.

Outside the door to his cage.

The handle was rattling. The Doctor had tried to open it before, but Ada had locked it. Didn't want her monster to get away. Didn't want to be _alone._

The person outside was persistent. He heard them crouch; reach for the hatch his small bowl of food was supplied through.

He crouched down, before lying on the straw that made up the floor of his cell. His limbs didn't allow him any movement he had previously considered simple. The person lifted the hatch.

He saw black. Not Ada. Not Gillyflower. Someone new.

He reached out, but realised it was too much – the new person reacted badly to his touch and his crimson skin. He let go, retreating back into the cell, hatch falling shut once he brought his hand back.

_Help me, _he pleaded in his mind, his mouth making little more than stuttered gasps.

A voice at the door. Female, familiar. London. Not Clara. Someone else.

_Who?_

_"All right mate. You just stay calm now."_

_Help. _He crashed into the door again, chains rattling against the metal. Hearing her jump with surprise and fear.

_"I could open this door. Would you like that?"_

He admired her courage. He knew her somewhere, but _where?_

He knocked his assent, crashing the chains into the door.

_"Thought you might. But you and me has got to come to an arrangement, savvy?"_

Some vacant part of his mind questioned the word 'savvy'. He pushed it aside, as he focused on knocking his assent yet again.

The tone changed. Businesslike. Authoritative_._

_ "Now, you stand well back, do you hear me?" _The woman was afraid. She hid it well, but he heard the rattle of the instruments she held in her hands. She didn't know what was waiting for her.

_Brave heart, my friend._

_"I don't mean no harm to ya'. But you try anything funny, and I'll leave you here to rot. Is that understood?"_

He understood it well, knocking twice to try and alleviate her fear. But he knew the fear she felt. The fear of the unknown.

Ada's monster was waiting on the other side of the door.

He moved back as quickly as his board-like limbs would allow, and waited. And when the door opened, Ada's monster got his glimpse of his saviour.

_Jenny._

She was equally surprised too, the blurred confusion of her face registering shock, surprise and a small amount of relief.

The Doctor was equally relieved, and he moved forward, reaching out for the girl, trying to communicate his thanks and gratitude. It was in vain; the crimson liquid had been unrelenting in its efforts to turn him into the perfect specimen. He was stuck in his doll-like state of rejection, unless he found a way to reverse it. And now Jenny was here, he might have a way to do so.

She was talking, asking questions.

_"Can't you speak?"_

Some part of his brain was rattling off an answer about no; he couldn't, due to the nature of the venom that he had been submerged in. His voice produced a series of moans and gasps. Jenny got the point, and he saw her slowly raise a hand, placing it on the crimson skin of his face.

He was the Doctor. And he had the porcelain skin of a doll.

She reacted with horror, understanding the need to leave. And leave they did, albeit slowly, limbs not willing to bend like they normally should.

He heard the lift, the insistent urging of Jenny that they hurry, and the scrape of the cane.

_Ada. His saviour._

Ada would be devastated to lose her monster, but he needed to repair the cracks, regain who he was before. Being a doll was _not _his style.

Jenny's horror on discovering the preservation process. The Doctor wanting to move on. To find Clara.

He saw it, the grey door that would return him to his original state.

Jenny was disbelieving: _"You wanna go in there?"_

He raised his arms, intimating that _yes, he did want to go in there._

Jenny trusted him, trusted his instincts even in his current state. She helped him in, gave him his clothes.

He retrieved his screwdriver, _so glad _to see it after the eternity with nothing of his, just a straw-filled cell.

And then the door closed, and he was alone in the safe green light.

He was the Doctor. And he had survived the Crimson Horror.

* * *

_**A/N: And that's it! Hope you all enjoyed it. I quite liked my repetition of the phrase "he was the Doctor". I don't know, I felt he needed some way to keep himself sane, and that was it.  
So, yeah.**_


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